An LVT Spoof

Submitted by Flashman (from HousePriceCrash):
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I once met a chap in my local who told me that he was all for taxing my unearned income. I couldn’t think of any income that I hadn’t earned, so I asked him for an example. He duly explained himself and I had to resist the urge to thrash the scoundrel on the spot.

I patiently explained to him that I had grafted like a dog to pay off my mortgage, at an exorbitant interest rate, for 25 years. To add insult to injury I had to pay this exorbitantly priced mortgage from an income that had been shredded in half by a whole host of toe curling taxes. I did some sums on a beer mat that showed him that I had paid for my house and every inch of dirt that it sits on, at least seven times over.

The incorrigible scallywag then went on to say that my house and land had gained in value by about 8,000% and that I had done nothing to deserve this gain. He also banged on about me not paying for the surrounding infrastructure or some such thing. This time I set my dog onto him. While he was having his throat gripped by an outraged Springer Spaniel, I explained to him that, in addition to paying income tax, NI, VAT, duties, company tax, business rates and corporation tax, I had also paid council tax for more than 40 years and that this council tax along with the tens of taxes listed above, are precisely what had paid for the damned infrastructure and services surrounding my home...

After lunch, back at Flash Towers, we got down to business. I showed him the deeds that clearly stated that I owned everything fair and square, now that I had paid for it in full. For good measure I showed him the section of UK law that also said that it was mine once I had paid for it. This chap was admittedly a little eccentric but I was still staunchly confident that no Englishman would ever try anything as shifty as changing the law, after a contract had been signed. We leave that sort of thing to Mugabe and an assortment of other foreign rogues.

Now this is where I have to admit to being surprised by the fellow. He showed a keen sense of humour that I would never have guessed at. He said with a straight face that he’d be doing me a favour by ripping up my freehold title and huge swathes of tax legislation. He said that I’d positively enjoy paying a tax that wasn’t mentioned in either the large or the small print when I first made the agreement to purchase the old pile.

Now, to be fair he threw in a generous offer to remove all my other taxes at the same time. That sounded quite appealing at first until I punched a few buttons on my trusty Sinclair. I eventually agreed to shake his hand on it, if he’d first agree to pay me back the 4 million quid that I had paid out in mortgage payments and home improvements, along with the 8 million quid in taxes that I'd paid for the local infrastructure that had, in turn, improved the value of my home.

For good measure I asked him to make the payments indexed linked. The retired QC next door agreed, over the fence, that this would be the only way to make this sort of unilateral imposition stand up in a court of law. My guest thought about this for a minute and offered to pay me back the lot. That’s a rather glorious £12 million more quid for my wife to spend on housing peasants in her flourishing buy-to-let empire. A little positive cash flow never hurts at my stage in life, so I was rather pleased by this unexpected generosity.

He quickly wrote something on an official looking piece of paper. I naturally assumed that the fellow was making our agreement legal and above board. He flourished the paper at me with an evil glint in his eye. The ground swirled under my feet as I tried to grasp the numbers on his impromptu bill. In return for the promised £12 million income tax and mortgage refund, the abominable swine was demanding £12 million in LVT back payments! My gout flared up on the spot, which enabled him to nimbly tuck a cheque into my top pocket. Later that night, I realised that this cheque, in the princely sum of £10,000, exactly corresponded to the amount I had paid for my mock Georgian pride and joy, way back in ’71. The appalling cheek of the man. It’s worth millions!

I finally came to my senses and reached for the shotgun. He scribbled furiously on a clipboard as he rushed past my worldly goods, on his way to the electric gates. Unfortunately for him, he also cast a covetous look at Daisy’s kennel, which was too much for the old girl.

Over the years, Daisy had marvelled at the increasing value of her kennel and had bitten the submitter of every planning application in her village and was not going to take this lying down! She bravely gave her last ounce of jaw strength to uphold The Law of the Land. I buried them both at the bottom of the garden... I say 'garden', it's more of a field, really, with a few tenanted cottages and so on, nothing special.